Page 29 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

Stripped bare, she shifted to straddle his hips, then sat back on the hard bulge of his erection. Separated only by the thin fabric of his drawers, he felt the heat of her sex and his cock throbbed. He rolled his hips, exploring that sensuous warmth, and she moved to meet him, pleasuring herself.

The sway of her body was intoxicating. The heat coursing between them and through him went molten. Gripping her waist, he bit down on his lip, already over-sensitized to every supple, sweet grind of her body against his. The sharp bite of his own teeth served to calm him somewhat, a trick he hadn’t needed since he was a fledgling, but he was drowning in the blooming bond.

And in her.

Gods, she was using his body like a tool, and he’d never been gladder to be of service. He wanted to encourage her to do it more, movemore, but his mouth had gone entirely dry. Her eyes slid closed. Her breasts bounced slightly with the gentle sway of her hips, rubbing that sweet bud at the apex of her sex against the tender head of his cock.

The smell of her arousal was heady. It thickened in his nose. He wanted to bury his face in that glorious scent, wanted to taste of her until she was screaming and sated, wanted to thoroughly get acquainted with the dark curls there and every other inch of her intimate flesh.

The image sank into his thoughts, and a moan fell from him. His balls tightened. One of her hands rested on his chest for balance, fisting in his shirt; another slid behind her to tease the sensitive sac beneath his cock. She glided over him, wet heat dampening the thin fabric barrier.

Her lips parted around a sensuous breath. The smallest whimper escaped her throat. And Malcolm gritted his teeth, the urge to finish pulsing through his pelvis, and they hadn’t even gotten started yet.

Oh, but the noises he would draw out of her when he pulled her up his body and sat her down on his face and . . .

She teased his balls. His hips jerked forward, and with a groan he finished right there in his tattered trousers.

“Sacred stars.” He blinked the blur out of his vision as waves of bliss rattled through him and his blood pressure bottomed out. “I swear to the divines, I’m never done that quickly.”

She chuckled, but there wasn’t even the hint of mockery in it. Just contentment and pride. The same he’d feel for her the moment he brought her to release. Again and again and again.

Fighting against the sudden feeling of drowsiness, he gripped her thighs and yanked her up his chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about tasting you, and it was the end of me. Closer now. I need you on my tongue.”

Hrafn scooted into place until her knees cradled the sides of his head. She lowered herself gently over his face, too gently. She was small in stature, and he wasn’t so fragile. The unexpected caution from this warrior woman amused him.

Malcolm cupped her ass in encouragement. Fondling the soft orbs, he squeezed them hard and seated her sweet pussy firmly against his lips, showing her he could handle all of her weight. His tongue flicked out against the furrow of her sex. With nose and lips he teased her, soaking in the whimpers and keens she gifted him.

Her thighs clenched around him. Then she seemed to remember herself and started to lift her body to lighten the load. He pinched her ass and held her in place, lapping and licking his fill. The drumbeat of their growing bond thundered beside his heart. Her pleasure was nectar to him, salty and sweet, and her moans and sighs were bliss.

When she forgot herself, forgot to try to be careful, her hips moved in rhythmic jerks over his lips, and she grew louder. Pressure built in his pelvis. His spent cock stirred. She was close, but he wasn’t nearly done yet. He slid his tongue inside her satiny entrance, moving his attention just south of where she needed him. In and out, he made love to her with his tongue.

Hrafn grunted her frustration, and her hands gripped his antlers, steering him north. He smiled against her sensitive flesh, then he blew over her sex, teasing her. Her grumpy little growl in response was music to his ears.

He adored her touch at the base of that intimately fae part of him. His tail slapped out excitedly, striking the floor and rebounding before he wrapped it around her leg. Gone was the cautious, gentle sway of her hips. She ground herself against his lips and tongue, and his cock hardened to granite.

“Oh gods, oh fuck. Oh, fuck me,” she panted and then her words transformed, slipping from a melodious Olden into some vulgar mixture of their languages. Moaned curses and panted praises, some familiar, some he didn’t know, but they were all for him.

Magnificent nonsense.

Her thighs shook, intimate flesh quivering under his tongue. Hrafn’s strangled sob topped off the crescendo of her release. She pitched forward, fingers tightening around his antlers for balance.

Holding her around the waist, he scooted her limp body back down his chest, where she collapsed against him. Tamed and tended to, her cheek nestled over his heart. Hrafn nosed at his shirt buttons, searching for the best place to rest her ear, and the sleepy movement made him think of a napping kitten. The low hum in her throat wasn’t unlike a purr.

Oh, but he wasn’t done yet. He bucked gently, prodding her hip with the throbbing bulge in his drawers, a warning that more was to come.

He sat them upright, cradling her. As he rose to his feet, she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him. She nuzzled his throat and unshaven jaw, sapped of the violent energy that usually thrummed somewhere under her skin. Her wings drooped down her back.

His gentle kitten. He smiled at the thought.

Malcolm supported her weight, cupping the cheeks of her ass, carrying her naked toward the archway of the great hall.

Then he changed his mind. He wasn’t going to make it up all those stairs just now, not as rock hard as he was. Malcolm sat her down on the end of the nearest table, fitting himself between her spread thighs, prodding gently at her wet heat.

He didn’t spare a thought for who might walk into the room. Like the old gods, he didn’t care.

“Do you want to come again, my deadly little bird?” he said into her hair. One of her braids had pulled loose.

“Hm,” she hummed drowsily, “not possible so soon.”

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